


Buried With Our Past

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's a little obsessed with Dean's blade from Purgatory. Cas stops by and makes an attempt at comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buried With Our Past

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a song by Of Monsters and Men.

They’ve never brought anything back with them before, and Sam’s both repulsed and fascinated by it at once; seeks it out every time Dean leaves, unable to curb the compulsory need to find and touch tangible proof of Dean’s absence from this world.  
  
Every place Dean has visited—Heaven, Hell, and now Purgatory—has claimed its own part of Dean; twisted a little piece of his brother that’s never quite able to bend back to its original shape when he returns to Earth. And each time those places spit Dean out again, Sam’s sharp eyes take in those changes, wondering how long angels and demons will continue to play with his brother until they finally decide their toy has been damaged enough and toss him back for good.  
  
Sam usually thinks of Heaven as the worst of them all, if only for all its pretense. Heaven, however, is the only place he got to share with Dean. And while his own experience in the Cage was done solo, he can’t help resenting Dean for going to Hell and Purgatory without him, however misguided that anger may be. He hates being left behind; has too many memories of watching the tail lights of the Impala as it drove away, never failing to make him feel small and weak and unwanted, creating an anger too deep-rooted and hot to ever fully ignore.  
  
It’s these thoughts that drive Sam into his brother’s room; have him carefully rooting through the deepest parts of Dean’s belongings until he finds the blade that his brother brought back from Purgatory.  
  
It’s ugly and vaguely terrifying, and part of Sam wishes that Dean had left this back in Purgatory where it obviously belonged. Yet, for all of Sam’s hatred of the weapon, his hands itch to find it every time Dean leaves him on his own; need to hold the smooth bone handle worn softer by the natural oil of Dean’s own hands gripping tight day after day.  
  
Using the broad side of the obsidian-like blade, Sam carefully slides the rough edge along the pale underside of his arm, not trying to cut but just watching the dipping line move across muscles and veins. He wonders if Dean had kept track of how many things he’d ganked in that place with this thing. Sam, for his part, knows exactly how many things he killed while Dean was away.  
  
The flutter of wings doesn’t surprise Sam as he stares down at the glassy, carved stone. He can feel the sink of the mattress when Cas joins him on the bed that remembers Dean.  
  
With anyone else, he might've felt pressured to fill the silence, but Cas’s quiet presence holds no judgment, and Sam closes his eyes, slides his thumb along the handle, and soaks in the peace. However, it doesn’t take very long for the questions to come flooding back to Sam’s mind, especially with the heavy weapon in his hand, and he knows that Cas holds at least some of the answers.  
  
“What was it like?”  
  
There’s a pause, like a short consideration, before the angel speaks.  
  
“Dark. Violent.” Cas’s voice is gritty but somehow calming, and Sam is thankful not to have to explain the reference of his question to the angel. “But easy. No moral dilemma about killing. Everything in that place had been evil enough to end up there.”  
  
“Except for Dean.” Sam’s voice is low while his hands move the blade around in his palm, and he tries not to be jealous of the angel. “Except for you.”  
  
Cas doesn’t answer. Instead, he places his hand over the one Sam is using to clutch the blade while reaching to place his other hand behind Sam’s shoulders, pulling him down until Sam’s head falls into the angel’s lap and Cas’s hands tangle in his hair, hesitantly brushing the soft strands through his fingers. With any other man, it might have been an odd thing, but Sam has always been in slight awe of the angel; has always craved their small moments of understanding. Out of everyone still alive, Cas is most able to understand just what goes on between Sam and Dean.  
  
“I wish I had stayed there.” Cas’s voice is hushed, and Sam feels darkly grateful for this moment that is just between him and Cas; a moment that he doesn’t have to share with his brother. Cas continues, “Something here isn’t sitting right with me. I don’t know why I’m back… I don’t know _how_. I feel as though I should stay away from you and your brother—protect you from some unknown danger. But I can’t help checking in to make sure you’re still alright.”  
  
The material of Cas’s pants is soft under Sam’s chin as he nods; not sure what he can say to make the angel stick around. He’d rather have Cas close by, danger or not, but Cas has always come and go in his own way. Cas is quiet again, his deft hands soothing as they continue to stroke through Sam’s hair, turning things a little hazy-edged and sleepy.  
  
Part of Sam wants to demand more answers from the angel; wants to know what happened to bring Dean back sharp-edged and jumpy and more than a little like this fucking scary _thing_ in his hand that he’s clutching like a lifeline. He wants to know what made Dean decide that some blood sucker had become more of a brother to him in a year than Sam had been in his entire life. And even though they’d both settled into some kind of unresolved truce with Benny and Amelia, Sam knows there’re stories that Dean still hasn’t told, and he wants them—jealously needs them with a desperation that he doesn’t quite understand.  
  
But instead of saying any of that, Sam grips the bone handle tighter and quietly states:  
  
“I don’t want to die.”  
  
Cas’s hands still, and he moves to rest one against Sam’s forehead. It feels warm as the slender fingers brush the fringe of his hair back.  
  
“The trials.” It’s said as a statement, but Sam nods anyway, unsurprised that Cas knows about this.  
  
“Something's wrong with my body,” he says slowly. “I’m coughing up more and more blood. But I can’t tell Dean. He’d run out and kill a hellhound before we even figured out what’s really happening. But I don’t want to die, either, Cas.”  
  
“ _Sam_.” His name sounds so sad and so soft in the angel’s mouth. Cas doesn’t have any answers, but he continues to comb his fingers through Sam’s hair until Sam starts to lose track of time; possibly dozes off at some point. When he’s aware of reality again, he opens his eyes, stretches his shoulders and guiltily pushes himself off Cas’s lap, careful of the blade still in his hand.  
  
“Thank you,” Sam says, voice sleep-rough. When Cas smiles, Sam can’t help the reflexive flush that happens whenever he finds the angel’s attention completely fixed on him. He knows Cas is about to leave; can feel the angel start to draw in on himself, ready to blink out of sight. But Sam’s not ready to give him up yet and, growing bold with anxiety, grabs onto Cas’s coat, pulls him in close, and brushes their lips together, tongue coming out just long enough to wet their lips and let them slide against each other in one slow motion before he moves away.  
  
Cas looks stunned, blue eyes wide and shiny pink mouth slightly open as he gapes at Sam.  
  
“You’re… welcome,” he says in a daze, and then, quite suddenly, he’s gone; a negative space in the room and Sam’s alone again.  
  
Sam doesn’t even bother to put the blade away this time; just leaves it sitting on top of Dean’s mattress for his brother to find when he gets back.


End file.
